


Drifting in the Hudson

by OBLVN



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Dream gets caught as a spy, Dream is an undercover agent, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, George is the drug lord, Guns, Hate Sex, M/M, References to Drugs, Smut, Threats of Violence, Undercover Missions, alcohol involved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:00:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28896270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OBLVN/pseuds/OBLVN
Summary: All Dream wants is to put George, the drug lord of the East Coast, behind bars, lock him away for life for the pain he has inflicted and the lives he has ruined. After months of undercover work inside the organization, working his way up, he receives an invitation to George's home, where he is confronted with what George suspects about him. He seeks a way to trust, to finish his mission, but with that, he allows for George to play his own game with him.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 585
Collections: MCYT





	Drifting in the Hudson

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains references to drugs, alcohol and firearms, so if you've not read the tags, this is your last warning. 
> 
> As always, Dream and George have expressed they are fine with sexualization and shipping (although this isn't much shipping I guess), but if they ever change their minds, I will not hesitate to take this story down.

The Hudson stretches 315 miles across the state of New York.

One might find the thought of their children swimming in it on holiday not as compelling anymore when they discover the drug dump site up north, near Vermont.

The sentiment stirs Dream’s stomach as he watches the other, ill-tempered man pry open the lid of one of the large blue barrels, disguised as a rain catchment system, but filled to the brim with drug waste to be dumped in the river.

“Are you going to help or what?” He shouts at him, causing Dream to cock an eyebrow and shake his head.

“Absolutely not,” he answers. The man straightens his back and sends him a death glare.

“You get one fucking promotion and you think you’re above everyone else,” he complains as his hands pull on the lid again, actually opening it up this time. The murky substance inside has both of them scrunch up their faces.

“I’m not going near that shit if I don’t have to, thank you very much,” Dream tells him. The other rolls his eyes as he pulls the container to the water side by himself. With a final push, it lands horizontally on the ground, sending a wave of toxics into the river.

He knows how awful it is, how it destroys nature, how it causes immeasurable damage to people who happen to get into contact with it, but he can’t interfere, not until he knows everything. He’s stepped in too much already, the fact he’s gotten away with the sudden increase of arrests among the organization is beyond him.

What he really, truly needs, is the arrest of the drug lord himself. He has managed to stay away from the illegal activities, standing at the top of all operations that are carried out across the East Coast of the country. He can’t be directly linked to any criminality though, which makes it nearly impossible to sue him, and build a case against him. The United States as a prosecutor wouldn’t stand a chance in court, he would walk away whistling. _George Davidson._

“Hurry up, I have to get back,” Dream complains as he glances at his watch.

“If you weren’t such a pussy and just _helped_ ,” the other rebuts, “we’d already be done.” He grunts as he takes another barrel from the back of the van and drags it towards the water side.

“Suck my dick, Sapnap,” Dream snarls as he climbs into the driver’s seat.

“Yeah, I bet you’d like that,” Sapnap yells back at him while dumping out the barrel’s contents.

It takes another ten minutes or so for Sapnap to empty all the barrels and place them back into the small truck, before he gets into the passenger side, and Dream drives them back to the storage place where they have been instructed to leave them. As they carry them inside the repurposed factory building, another man Dream knows as ‘Bad’ walks up to them.

“Dream,” he says, catching his attention. He drops the barrel onto the floor and wipes his hands on his jeans, before turning to the man, dressed in suit and tie.

“What’s up?” He answers, trying to read Bad’s face, but learning nothing from it. Something about the people working for the organization has had Dream icky from the start of his undercover mission, mainly because they never show any emotion whatsoever. Except for Sapnap, he is too loud-mouthed to be discreet about his feelings.

“George has requested you visit him tonight.”

Dream freezes in his spot.

“Why?” He asks, somewhat suspiciously.

“I’m just the messenger,” Bad says with a shrug as he hands Dream a paper with an address scribbled onto it. He walks off immediately, leaving Dream confused, and even slightly worried. Sapnap walks up behind him and peers over his shoulder onto the paper.

“Oh you are in big fat trouble,” he laughs as he reads the address. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Dream answers half-heartedly. _If only Sapnap knew._

“Did you steal from the supply?” Sapnap asks, a more curious tone in his voice now.

“No, Sapnap—”

“Wait, did you kill someone?” His eyes grow wide as he looks at Dream, who turns to face him. “You killed someone, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t! Shut up before I kill _you_ , annoying motherfucker,” Dream rebuts, stuffing the paper in his pocket. “It might not even be bad, it could be good,” he says, more so to calm himself down rather than to convince Sapnap.

“Doubt it,” Sapnap scoffs as he drops the last barrel in the corner with the others, “but keep telling yourself that.”

———

So what the hell do you do when the boss himself invites you over at his house? Dream isn’t quite sure, even when his car approaches the gravelly driveway where several other cars are parked already, reflecting the moon’s early light in their shiny exteriors. His heart beats faster than it should when he opens his door and steps out, the pebbles under his shoes shifting and alerting anyone who’s listening of his arrival.

The door only takes a few steps to get to, and before he can ring the bell, the door is already opened up for him, revealing a large man with an earpiece gesturing for him to come in. _A fucking bodyguard?_

“Spread your arms,” he states with a monotonous voice. Dream does as asked, and the man clops his arms, sides, waist and legs in search.

“I have, uh—,” he starts, before the man already finds the outline of a gun in his waistband, taking it out. He glares at Dream, before laying it in a plastic box and putting a lid on it. Heat rises to Dream’s face as he stares back. “For protection, you know?” He says.

“Mm-hm,” the other hums suspiciously, before another door at the end of the hallway opens up. In the doorframe, basked in light shining from behind, stands George. The most wanted drug criminal of the eastern states, barely out of reach.

“Take the night off,” he says, directed at the man who is placing the plastic box containing Dream’s gun into a safe of some sorts. He surprises Dream with his British accent, he figured he would be American, or maybe from a South American country, the pictures he had previously seen of him weren’t very telling. The guard raises an eyebrow as he looks back.

“You sure? He had a gun,” he says, and Dream feels himself shying up quickly, immensely out of place in this scene.

“Well he doesn’t anymore now, does he?” George answers sassily, and the guard shakes his head. “So I’ll see you when you return at midnight,” he states, and the other nods his head, sending one last glare Dream’s way before leaving through the door, leaving the other two behind.

George steps into the hallway and closes the door behind him, approaching Dream with a stretched out hand and slightly squinted eyes.

“How was your drive?” He asks as Dream takes his hand and shakes it softly, looking down at him. He expected George to be taller as well, but he towers well over him.

“Uh, fine, I guess,” Dream tells him as he looks around at the not very telling interior of the mansion’s hallway.

“Glad to hear,” George says as he drops his hand and walks towards a different door than the one he came through, opening it and gesturing for Dream to enter.

Each step Dream takes is careful, every look he passes over objects and decorations is swift as he follows George further into some sort of study room. Bookshelves line the walls, except for the one in which a fireplace has been installed, wood already lit inside. Two large leather armchairs are stood in front of it, on top of a black carpet, with a small, round, dark wooden table between them. Two empty glasses stand on top of it.

“What do you drink?” George asks him, grabbing his attention away from scanning the room. He is stood by a liquor cabinet in between some shelves, looking at Dream expectantly.

“Anything is fine, I’ll have what you have,” he answers, and George nods approvingly, taking a bottle from the cabinet with an orangey liquid inside. He walks over to the table and pours a considerable amount into each glass, before gesturing for Dream to sit down. He does as suggested, and brings the glass to his nose, swishing the liquid in it around before the strong scent of whiskey enters his nostrils. George sits down on the other chair as soon as he returns, and immediately takes a sip from his glass while he gets comfortable. His leg crosses over the other as he sits back, resting his elbow on top of the arm of the chair for the drink to always be near his face. A small voice erupts in the back of Dream’s mind, _‘he doesn’t expect you to drive back tonight’._

“You work directly under me now,” George states. His eyes squint ever so slightly, barely visible, but Dream spots it. “How does that feel for you?”

Dream contemplates his answer for a moment or two, not wanting to say anything wrong in whatever this conversation is, or will become.

“I mean, it’s strange, sort of?” Dream says, turning the glass on the table by lifting it with his fingertips and moving it around. “If you start dealing for some extra cash, you don’t really expect to… to work your way up like this,” he tells George, who is keeping a hawk eye on him.

“What did you need the money for?” George asks in response, placing the cylinder against his lips again.

“I had debts that needed to be paid off, otherwise they would kick me out of my apartment,” Dream lies. George nods slowly and hums as he takes it in. He observes him in silence for a while as he nips on his drink. His gaze makes an uncomfortableness erupt in Dream’s stomach, but he knows he can’t show it. He suppresses any nervous habit he would usually resort to, sitting back in the chair as he looks over the book covers lined on the shelves.

Suddenly, George stands up and sets his glass down, before stuffing his hands in the pockets of his dress pants and starting to wander through the room. Every creak of the floor under his feet has Dream on edge, until it goes around him and ends in front of him. Without a warning, George grabs him by the collar of his dress shirt and pulls him up from the chair to meet at eye sight. Dream looks into the cool brown in front of him in shock, not knowing what’s happening, but fearing for the worst case scenario.

“You think you’re so fucking clever, don’t you?” George’s hot breath hits his face as he speaks, still faintly smelling of tobacco and the effect of years of alcohol abuse. The grip on Dream’s collar tightens as George pulls him closer, chests nearly touching, noses mere millimeters away from each other. Dream swallows, switching his gaze between both of George’s eyes which spit furious fire at him.

“I— I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dream’s words stumble over his tongue, causing George’s face to contort into a scowl. The atmosphere in the room is heavy around them, the crackling of the fireplace the only sound as George remains silent. Dream finds the silence maybe even more menacing than if the brunet were to spit out his venomous words at him. In latter case, he would simply rebut, but when no curses are launched at him, he can only stand and stare, waiting for George’s next move.

“Do you know what happens… _to_ _liars_?” George then says, almost sickly sweet in tone as he pulls the taller down in order to tower over him instead. The awkwardly bent position of his legs almost makes Dream want to kneel down, but he knows that will give George the satisfaction he isn’t looking to give him, so he stays put.

“I’m not—”

“Shut the fuck up,” George snarls as he yanks on Dream’s collar again, breath catching in his throat. “I’ve had my doubts from day one, you dirty little mole,” he hisses, pushing on Dream’s shoulder until eventually he has no choice but to sit on his knees in front of the other. He doesn’t have his weapon, the house is empty apart from them, he can’t defend himself anymore. “Do you think I’m stupid, Dream? Is that it?”

“I don’t—” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as George’s hand lets go of his collar and wraps around his throat instead, squeezing his windpipe shut just enough to send out a clear warning: _don’t try anything_.

“People started getting arrested, once you came around,” George growls, “you didn’t think that looked the least bit suspicious?” His hand squeezes tighter, causing Dream to gasp and grab at George’s hand with his own, trying to pry away the slender fingers cutting off his oxygen supply. “Everywhere you went, my people dropped like flies, _except for you_. Lucky bastard, aren’t you?”

A strangled sound leaves Dream’s throat as he claws at George’s fingers, face dripping with a silent plea to _please_ _let him go_. The hand finally releases and retracts, allowing for Dream to inhale sharply and cough as he sits down on the floor, grabbing at his own throat.

“There’s a reason I run this whole ordeal, and not somebody else, Dream,” George says as he turns around, picking another cigarette from his jacket's pocket. It’s effortlessly lit and placed between his lips before he turns back around to a still slightly panting Dream. “They might be gullible, thinking you protected our supply when the others were handcuffed and sent off in police cars, but I know better than that.”

“George, I swear this is not what it looks like,” Dream tries to reason, watching George take a long drag.

George crouches down in front of him and takes the cigarette from his mouth, blowing the smoke into Dream’s face as he speaks, “who do you work for?”

“Nobody, I promise,” Dream answers. The smoke tickles the inside of his nose as he inhales it.

“Your promise means nothing,” George barks at him, saliva landing on his face, causing him to flinch.

“Then what does mean something?” He asks. His gaze gets stuck on George’s lips when the cigarette finds its way back to them again. George smirks upon realization.

“I value loyalty and integrity over anything else,” George answers, softer than before. Dream’s eyes shoot back up. “Anyone who works for me has proven they possess these core characteristics.”

“I work for you, don’t I?” Dream answers quietly. George’s face is expressionless as he places the cigarette between Dream’s lips, holding it as he takes a drag. The moment is strangely intimate for both of them. Dream lets the cancerous stick linger in his mouth for longer than needed, maintaining eye contact with George as he inhales.

“Who do you return to at night?” George asks, surprising Dream as the smoke settles in his lungs. “Is there a wife waiting for you? Kids who you kiss goodnight?”

“Neither.” The first truth he’s told George about himself.

“It would be a shame if a husband and father stopped coming home after work,” George speaks, leaning in closer to Dream.

“I’m neither,” Dream answers. The flames licking the wood inside the fireplace start heating up the shoulder Dream has faced towards it, and a bead of sweat trickles down his temple. George follows it with his eyes, until it rests by Dream’s ear.

“Is that why you do this? Because nobody will miss you if you get caught and your body is found drifting in the Hudson?” George’s words are like poison seeping into his body, coursing through his veins with malicious intent.

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” Dream answers coolly. It takes all strength in his body not to tremble, not to show George he’s afraid of being found out. His deathly stare bores holes into his skull, he _needs_ to be steady, or else he might fall apart on the spot.

“Are you lying to me?” George says softly, moving in even closer, to the point where Dream can distinguish each individual eyelash lining his eyelid. He can see every minuscule dip in his skin, every pore on his nose, every hair in his eyebrow. His eyes drop to George’s lips, slightly parted, breathing out tar and hatred, before he tosses the cigarette into the fire.

“How do you need me to prove myself?” Dream breathes out, eyes fixed on the corners of his mouth that pull up in a sly smile. George loses his crouch, sitting down instead with his legs to the side, leaning on one arm on the other side.

“You are so very confident, aren’t you?” George speaks lowly. “Are you loyal, Dream?”

“I am loyal,” he answers, breathing deeply.

“Are you integer?”

“I am integer, George.”

George stares daggers into his body, he feels his chest tightening in anticipation. George could pull out a gun at any given second if he weren’t to hesitate anymore. He could shoot him right then and there, and get away with it.

“How would you prove yourself?” His effortless nonchalance shines through when put in this position. George knows he’s the puppet master, holding all the strings on everybody around him. He’s got Dream in his grip. And Dream plays along.

He leans in further and tilts his head, the sides of their noses touching.

“Can I kiss you?” Dream whispers.

“If that’s what you want to do,” George whispers back. Dream leaves not a second to think about it and presses his lips to George’s softly, but eagerly. It takes a few moments before George kisses him back, but he gently pulls away again after mere seconds. The little voice inside accuses Dream, _‘you didn’t even hesitate’_.

“Except you can’t kiss your way into trust,” George says, noses still against each other.

“What if I try again?” Dream responds, voice barely risen to above a whisper.

“What if pulled out a 9 millimeter right now and pointed it at your head?” George whispers back. A shock of electricity moves through Dream’s spine, but not in a necessarily pleasurable way.

“I’d curse myself for not kissing you sooner,” Dream answers. George hums, but no gun appears. Instead, Dream takes the opportunity to meet him at the mouth again, finding George kissing him back sooner than the time before. They move in sync, nobody in control of the pace or the intensity. George pulls away again.

“There have been more like you,” he says, now laying his cheek to Dream’s.

“More like me?” He asks, lifting his hand to run it through George’s hair carefully. When no protest ensues, he continues wrapping the locks around his fingers.

“Guys who tried to fuck their way to the top,” George explains, and Dream’s hand stills momentarily, before continuing its gentle movements.

“I haven’t fucked anyone to get to the position I am in now,” Dream tells him. The second truth he’s told George about himself.

“Do you know where they are now?”

Dream tries to keep his breathing steady as he learned to do, not allowing his heart rate to spike as high as it wants to. All those years, training, working in the field, gaining trust, he needs them now. Dream’s silence accounts for enough of an answer for George to elaborate on his own accord.

“They are either six feet under, or remain part of a missing person’s investigation,” he says as he turns his face towards Dream again, his mouth nearly meeting his ear. “I let them have it, for one night. They felt invincible the next day. Like they forgot who they work for.” George’s breath is warm and moist against his ear as he whispers. “Biggest mistake you can make. Never forget who you work for.”

“Why would you let them use you?” Dream answers quietly, and he can feel the grin on George’s lips as they linger in front of his ear.

“Oh, you don’t get it,” he whispers, sending a dangerous shiver down Dream’s spine. “It’s the other way around, Dream. I get a good fuck, and they get a bullet to their brain the next day. Who uses who?”

Dream swallows hard as George’s lips land right below his ear, not kissing, not sucking, just laying there. He exhales shakily.

“Do you make exceptions?” Dream asks softly, and George’s hum vibrates against his skin.

“Do you want to find out?” He whispers against Dream’s neck. He closes his eyes, feeling them wanting to roll back when George’s hand snakes over his thigh. George’s low chuckle reverberates through his ears.

“Maybe I do,” Dream whispers back, turning his head so the corners of their mouths touch. George’s hand doesn’t still, instead moving more upwards towards Dream’s crotch.

“I know your kind, Dream.” His lips brush Dream’s slightly as he speaks. “Danger enthralls you. The possibility of waking up with a Glock 45 pressed to your forehead, you don’t mind, do you?”

Dream shakes his head, unsure of where to leave his hands as he feels George’s hand ghost over the button on his pants, before undoing it and dragging the zipper down, tormentingly slow.

“Moles are considered pests, did you know that?” George says softly, breath landing on Dream’s lips. “Do you know what we do with pests?”

“I’m not a pest,” Dream breathes out as he feels George’s fingers brush over his boxers. “Tell me how to prove myself,” he adds, eyes falling shut as fingers make place for a palm.

“Tell me your real name,” George whispers without missing a beat, rubbing his hand up against Dream’s underwear, causing a shaky exhale to leave his lips. His heart drops to his stomach at the demand. He’s heard it, countless times, _‘never share anything about your true identity’_. Yet something tells him George will know if he’s lying. A couple moments pass in which George continues gently rubbing his length, involuntarily growing at the foreign touch.

“Clay,” he whispers back.

“Hmm, Clay.” The name rolls of George’s tongue easily, adorned with his thick British accent. Dream nods as he feels George’s hand wrap tighter around the fabric, moving up and down with more applied pressure. “And which would you like to hear me moan?”

“Whichever you like best,” Dream tells him. A small, shaky moan escapes his mouth as George’s hand brushes over the top of his tip that escapes his waistband. His lips catch Dream’s teasingly, not quite kissing, but more so taking Dream’s bottom lip between his own and pulling on it. Dream feels the fabric of his boxers being pulled down, allowing for George to grab onto him without anything between them anymore. The voice in Dream’s head returns, _‘why aren’t you protesting?’_.

“How does it feel, Dream?” George whispers against his lips. They fall open but he lacks in response. “Powerful?” His hand increases its speed, inciting an obscene moan from Dream. “Or maybe even the opposite?”

“Both, simultaneously,” Dream mutters, leaning back on his hands as tingles spread around in his lower abdomen.

“Have you ever fucked a man before?” George asks, voice low, barely above a whisper. Dream shakes his head and shudders, feeling George’s finger smear his precum around his tip and over his slit. “You should,” he breathes out as he lifts his hand and takes off his blazer to throw it off to the side. His tight fitted shirt embraces his muscles, and Dream can’t help but follow his course of action, also taking off his jacket. George grins and puts his hand back in its previous position, his other slowly pulling off Dream’s pants and boxers.

“Eager,” he says when Dream moves his legs to speed up the process, wiggling out of his bottom clothing. His words immediately get through to Dream, like a knife is being stabbed into his abdomen, and he realizes what exactly he’s doing. _He lets it happen._

As George gets out of his pants, the voice returns. _‘What the fuck are you doing?’_

He takes off his underwear, and Dream sits up to take over, pushing George to the ground in front of the fireplace. The heat makes him sweaty. _‘You’re not thinking straight.’_

He dips down and meets George at the mouth. He tastes like nicotine and scotch too expensive to get drunk on. Dream lets his tip press against the ring of muscle under him while George licks into his mouth, pushing up against him. ‘ _You know this is wrong.’_

“Be a good boy and prep me first,” George whispers after he has pulled away from Dream, who nods and immediately brings his fingers to his mouth to coat them in saliva. His hand moves down and his finger finds its way inside, earning a gasp from George as he moves it back and forth.

“Never fucked a man, but knows how to prep,” he says breathlessly, pulling on Dream’s shoulders to bring him down against him. Adrenaline rushes through every single one of Dream’s veins as he pushes his finger in and out, until George demands more from him. A second, and eventually a third finger follow, stretching less than intimately. _‘Are you really going to try and fuck yourself into safety?’_

“Get on with it already,” George groans as he frowns with eyes closed. Dream dips down again, resuming the position he was in, after pulling his fingers out.

“Why the rush?” He whispers into George’s ear, who shudders under him.

“Because I fucking say so,” he grumbles back, digging his nails into Dream’s shoulders as he latches onto him.

“Don’t you want to let go of control sometime?” He whispers again as he pushes only his tip in, causing for his own mouth to fall open at the warmth, while George’s jaw drops at the stretch.

“If I were to— ah, fuck—,” he groans as Dream pushes in further, “-to let go of control, moles like you would— _fuck_ — would get what they want.” George breathes heavily as he throws his head back. Dream watches, lifted above him, as he pauses halfway in.

“How many times do you need to hear I’m not a mole,” Dream grunts as he catches his own breath.

“Maybe whatever God welcomes you up above will believe you,” George snarls out, and Dream feels a fire ignite all through his chest and lower regions.

“I am _not_ a goddamn _mole_ ,” he says through his teeth as he thrust in completely, bottoming out when skin meets skin and George’s pornographic moan fills the room. All the anger at what George does to others, the fear of being caught as spy, the adrenaline of having sex for the first time in months, it all comes out as he starts thrusting harshly, without any regard of whether George is ready for it or not. A string of loud moans comes from under him as he snaps his hips back and forth, not slowing down for even a second when the moans grow louder.

“Fucking hell Clay,” George yells out as he hooks his legs around Dream’s waist and drags his fingers across his back, leaving scratches that Dream is sure to feel burn through his skin. His movements are fueled by passionate fury at that use of his name, a longing for this whole mission to be over already, to lock the man under him in jail for the pain he’s inflicted and the lives he’s destroyed.

“Goddamnit,” George curses as one of his hands leaves Dream’s back to slither between them. Dream drops his head to George’s shoulder, sucking on his collarbone as his rushed movements become sloppier. A last low, dragged out moan leaves George’s mouth as his head drops back and he pulls Dream in completely by the force of his legs. Dream feels him release between their stomachs, and with a few final pushes, he finishes inside of George as well with a lewd moan, dropping down on top of him. He hears George chuckle below him as his arm stretches out beside them.

Everything tells him to stay put. _‘Don’t move and you’ll be okay.’_

He lifts himself up nevertheless as George retracts his arm again, before he stares straight into the barrel of a gun and George’s grinning face from below him.

“Time to find out if you were the exception.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually so fun to write, I like the whole aggressive George type thing lol
> 
> Consider following me on twitter, @_OBLVN :)


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